Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“I gathered as much.”
“I guess that means I remind you of a star,” Hayes says with a wink in his voice. “Thanks for the star and planet ones. The llamas too.”
Their soft expressions tell me just how much they liked the gifts—the same gift that I tailored for each guy. “Just don’t wear socks with nothing at all,” I tease.
“Noted,” Stefan says.
“I knew that,” Hayes seconds. He seems relaxed with all of us today. It’s so good to see. It’s also good to see both of them at work. Initially, I wasn’t sure how I’d handle it, liking one guy I worked with, let alone two. But turns out, it’s easy to interact with them here in the halls, maybe because that’s what we did before Vegas. We talked on the rooftop, on the plane, and here in the halls.
“I got another gig today,” I say brightly, keen to share. “I’m doing social for a store.”
“I told you you’re brilliant,” Stefan says, his eyes shining with pride as he offers a fist for knocking and I knock back.
“That’s awesome,” Hayes says, then high-fives me.
Stefan gestures toward the arena. “We should go.”
But neither of them moves.
Briefly, doubt fuzzes my head. What strange habits are their biceps hiding? What emotional shortcomings do they possess under their steel bodies? Most of all, how could they hurt me?
My dad hid his anger well for a while, but by the time I was nine, he was getting drunk after work, then screwing other women, then hurling insults at our mom, then telling his daughters we could never trust a man, not even him. It was emotional whiplash till my mom finally kicked him out, and my brother took on the protector role.
Some days, though, I still feel that whiplash in my heart, still hear the echo of his insults in my mind.
And I worry that every man I encounter might be like him eventually. I hate that I still think these things even after these guys have shown their support. Even after they’ve lifted me up, I still expect the worst.
I just don’t know how to shake my past with Xander or the way I grew up with my dad.
“Do either of you have a sourdough starter that you named after a writer?” I ask.
Stefan blinks, clearly perplexed. “This feels like a trick question,” he says warily, “but I’m going to answer anyway. No. Hayes?”
“I don’t even know how to turn on the oven, so that’s a big no.”
“Good,” I say, somewhat mollified. “And good luck tonight.”
Hayes gives a chin nod, but before he leaves, he says softly, “Also, I would never stage a blow job pic for a wedding invite. Or any other reason.”
Stefan catches on immediately. “And I would never fuck your boss. Your ex is an asshole who never deserved you. Remember that. But if you don’t, we’ll keep reminding you—you’re amazing in every way.”
Hayes nods to the ice. “Get out there and go show the city what the San Francisco Fog can do.”
“You guys are the best,” I say softly, then I head to the ice, fueled by their support.
33
THE ICEMAN
Hayes
“The Avengers were once a crew of righteous vigilantes, protecting the Earth from danger.” Or so the story goes, told in a deep, foreboding tone over the loudspeakers and filling the arena as it does before every home game, while purple and blue beams of light sweep across the darkly lit rink.
As I step onto the ice, I leave the day behind. The call from my agent, checking in on my marriage. The texts from my granddads asking how my telescope is working out, and the note from my dad asking me to go ring shopping with him.
They all melt away when I meet the energy of the crowd and the cool, crisp bite of the air.
All that matters is the game ahead, another chance to prove myself to this team.
I take a few laps around the rink to warm up, then slap the puck into the waiting net as the voice of god regales the crowd with his story of the Avengers. I’ve heard it enough, but this time, the story shifts…
“But then, the fog rolled in…”
Whoa. There she is, jumping over the boards and barreling across the ice, arms flapping in her gray costume, trying so valiantly to whip up the fans.
The crowd cheers. But then they slow their cheers, like they don’t know what to make of that costume.
Poor Ivy. I feel bad that the team picked such a blasé mascot outfit, but she’s a trouper, racing across the ice with gusto and spirit. But that’s her style—she rolls with the punches and picks herself up. She forges ahead, with her scrappy attitude and her fighting style.
I smile to myself as I glide across the ice, loosely chasing the puck. I like seeing her here. I liked chatting with her before the game. Shooting the breeze with the three of us felt right, then hearing her good news fired me up, just like the twin gifts excited me earlier.